Rehan

I woke up at 4:30 in the morning, it was time for my exercise and training. As I got up, I looked at Mansa. She was shivering, and I could see that she was trying to bend her legs. She had been standing for a long time, and her body was clearly exhausted.

"Rest," I said coldly.

She immediately collapsed onto the floor, clutching her knees. I glanced at her but didn't bother to help her up.

"Before I return, make my breakfast," I ordered.

"You are not eating with everyone today?" she asked hesitantly.

I looked at her for a moment, my expression turning colder.

"Whatever has been asked of you, just do that. Don't ask too many questions."

I left the room without waiting for her reply.

As I walked out, I saw an Indian news report playing online. The headline immediately caught my attention. The daughter of India's Lieutenant General had been kidnapped, and there was still no trace of her.

A quiet laugh escaped me.

Now where was their revenge? Their threats? Their lawsuits against us?

Oh yes.

The General had forgotten his duty over his daughter.

Now he would know what it felt like when it came to family.

I was sure her father must have at least some hint about where his daughter was. After all, I had already sent him a warning letter last time.

Mansa was just a prawn in my personal game. This game had nothing to do with my boss or my mission. Even if my boss had married her, my plan would still have worked. Marrying her myself was simply one step ahead of what her father could ever imagine.

I wanted him to drown in the same agony I had suffered a decade ago.

After my training session, I was moving back toward the room when I heard a familiar little voice behind me.

"Rehan uncle." Mishaal came running toward me in her babyish voice. She was holding her doll tightly in her hands.

"Uncle, please make Dad understand. I don't want to go to that camp. I don't want to run or hold a gun. I want to play with other kids," she complained in her childish voice.

"It's for your own good, dear," I said calmly.

"What good? Why can't I play like other kids? Dad always punishes me if I don't do training right. He always scolds me. I don't like him."

She was on the verge of tears.

"Mishaal, let's go to camp."

Her father appeared behind her and threw the doll she was holding aside.

"No, Daddy," she cried, immediately reaching for it.

"Mishaal, do you want to get married early like other girls, or become strong like your uncle and me?" he asked.

"I want to become strong," she said through her tears.

"Then come with me for training."

He held her hand tightly and dragged her away.

At least he cared for his daughter.

Or so I thought.

The rest I had seen were different. They simply used their daughters as weapons to secure powerful alliances by marrying them to strengthen their position, or make them work like maids.

I knew I was doing the same with Mansa.

But she and her family deserved it.

She deserved my hate.

I entered my room.

A fresh aroma of omelette and toast, along with the smell of tea, reached me.

I looked toward the kitchen counter.

Mansa was there, cooking.

I stopped for a moment.

She looked different than usual.

She looked puffed, her face tired and slightly swollen. Even the way she was standing made it obvious that she wasn't well.

"Your breakfast is ready," she said, her voice trembling.

I already knew she was ill. Ammi had mentioned that she hadn't been eating properly.

So that was it.

Let her suffer. Perhaps the weakness would finally teach her something she had stubbornly refused to understand—that she needed to eat, whether she wanted to or not.

"I'll go downstairs," she murmured.

She covered her head before leaving, carefully adjusting her scarf.

I noticed it immediately.

So she was finally learning the etiquette of this mansion.

After finishing my breakfast, I returned to the room and found her coming back.

"What happened? Why did you come back?"

"Ammi asked me to rest. I have a fever," she said quietly.

I stared at her.

"You are making an excuse"

"No, Rehan. I swear I'm not doing it purposely. I'm really not feeling well."

Her voice became smaller with every word.

I could see the fear in her eyes.

That fear was useful. It reminded her who she was dealing with.

"Wash my plate. Then iron my shirt."

She looked at me helplessly.

"Rehan, can I please do it later? I don't have the energy to even move."

She lowered herself to the floor, pulling her scarf around her shoulders, she is feeling cold.

I didn't raise my voice this time.

"Did I ask you to tell me how you're feeling?"

She immediately went quiet.

"Get up."

She didn't move.

I waited.

The silence stretched between us until she finally placed one hand against the wall and slowly pushed herself upright.

"Now."

She took my shirt and began ironing it.

Her hands were unsteady. Every few seconds she had to pause and catch her breath.

I watched without saying anything.

I didn't need to threaten her.

She already knew what happened when she disobeyed.

And that was the part I preferred.

My eyes lingered on her for a moment before I looked away. The thin fabric of her dress made her appear even more vulnerable than she already was.

Fuck my cock got harder.

Something about the sight irritated me.

Because I suddenly understood why other men noticed her.

My jaw tightened.

I will look after that man who tried t touch her in my absence. I was observing her moves in cctv that I had control in my phone.

She was mine to control.

No one else's.

I picked up my phone and typed a message to a clothes exporter. He supplied imported clothes for the men here, but when it came to the women, Adil had given strict instructions—the clothes had to be of the lowest quality.

I messaged him to bring better fabric and decent dresses for the women.

Especially for Mansa.

I didn't want her walking around in clothes that invited unnecessary attention. I didn't want another man looking at her with the same kind of hunger I had seen before.

I was about to put my phone aside when a news notification from India appeared on the screen.

BREAKING NEWS.

I tapped it.

The volume was loud enough for Mansa to hear from across the room.

A woman's trembling voice filled the room.

"Hello everyone. I am Mansa's sister, Saanvi. My sister has been missing for the past few days, and we are trying our best to find her. Some resources have found that she may have been abducted out of India. Please share this video across all social media platforms and TV channels, including channels in other countries, so if, somewhere, by God's grace, my sister sees it, she will know that we are worried about her."

Her voice broke for a second before she continued.

"Please... if you see my sister somewhere, just contact us. We only want to know that she is safe."

The video's audio echoed through the room.

I didn't look at Mansa immediately.

I didn't need to.

I could already hear her breathing change.

When I finally glanced at her, she was staring at the phone in horror. Tears had begun to gather in her eyes before slowly slipping down her cheeks.

She came toward me immediately.

"Please show me that video again. Please."

I leaned back slightly, watching her desperation.

"Oh, no..." I deliberately softened my voice. "Why is Peach in such a rush?"

"Let me see that video once. Please." Her voice cracked. "Just once."

I looked at her silently.

I was enjoying this.

Not her tears.

Her helplessness.

She was begging.

"No," I said coldly.

"Only once. I'll do whatever you want." She wiped her tears hurriedly. "They're so worried about me."

"What can you do about it?" I asked.

"I'll write a letter to them." She swallowed hard. "And trust me, I won't reveal anything about where I am. I'll just tell them that I'm okay and that I'm here on my own wish. I don't want to hurt them more."

She stepped closer and, before I could stop her, touched my foot.

"Please."

I looked down at her hand.

Then at her face.

"Do I look like an idiot to you?" I gritted through my teeth, grabbing her shoulder firmly and making her look at me. "You really think I'd allow that?"

"You can check it before I send it," she pleaded. "I swear on my parents, I won't show any smartness."

I studied her for a few seconds.

She had swear of

her parents I am sure now she won't pull out stupid move.

Then an idea occurred to me.

"So you'll do anything?"

She immediately nodded.

"Yes. Anything."

A slow smirk appeared on my face.

"Let's play a game."

Her brows pulled together.

"Game?"